With Benefits
by mille libri
Summary: Hawke and Aveline have been friends ... and more ... for a long time. When she starts showing interest in another man, can he step back and let her go?


The first time it happened was in Gwaren, in the seedy inn on the docks. They'd managed to find spare coin for a room; Dane Hawke had left it for the women, secretly glad to be away from Bethany's lost stare and his mother's endless weeping for the night. But Aveline had snuck out once the others were asleep and found him bedded down in an empty stall in the stable, the hay musty but not as dirty as he had feared it might be.

"You all right?" he asked her.

"No." She shivered, pulling Wesley's cloak more tightly around her. "His face. I can't stop seeing his face."

"Here." Dane handed her the bottle of wine he had liberated from the bar.

She took a long drink, and then spat half of it back into the straw. "What is that?"

"Comfort."

Aveline closed her eyes. "Maybe. It tastes like—I don't want to think about what it tastes like."

"I think if you can still taste it, you haven't had enough."

"I think you're right." She drank some more. Then she looked at him, her green eyes direct. "You all right?"

"No." Dane took the bottle from her. "I should have been able to save him. Maybe it should have been me instead of Carver."

"He was foolhardy. I know you don't want to hear that, but it's true. He rushed into battle with that ogre; we'd have done better against it if he'd waited." Aveline looked at Dane with stricken eyes. "I'm sorry. I … sometimes I can't help thinking like a soldier."

"It's all right. I'm a soldier, too. Or I was. After Ostagar—"

Aveline shuddered, taking the bottle back and taking a long drink. "Let's not talk about that."

"No."

"Let's not talk about anything." She looked at him, and suddenly he was intensely aware of her body pressing against him in the hay, of her face so close to his, and he kissed her, hard.

"Let's not talk at all," he whispered, his hands going to the buttons of her shirt, seeking the soft, warm flesh beneath.

"Hawke …" But her momentary protest was lost in a sigh of pleasure as his other hand cupped her, and then her hands were on his chest, under his shirt, her mouth on his, as they burrowed into the straw and took what comfort they could from each other.

Morning found them curled together in the hay, under Wesley's cloak. Aveline got hastily to her feet, straightening her clothes and shaking the loose straw off the cloak. She wouldn't look at Dane, her cheeks burning red.

He got up, too, more slowly, feeling guilt on her behalf. On his own part … he couldn't forget the power in her legs as they'd wrapped around him, the grip of her fingers on his hips.

"That can't happen again," she said. "I—it shouldn't … well, maybe it should have. But once only. More than that would be …" She shook her head.

"Of course," Dane said, knowing there was no point in arguing, even if he'd been sure that he wanted to. She had to heal; he had to care for his family. There was no room in either of their lives for entanglement.

* * *

A year later, they sat in a trashy bar, toasting Aveline's successful application to join the Kirkwall Guards. The swill they drank was only marginally better than the wine they had shared in Gwaren, but they didn't care. They were celebrating.

"To the Guards!" Dane said, lifting the bottle and taking a long drink.

"To the end of your year with the smugglers," Aveline said. She laughed, a happier and more relaxed laugh than Dane had ever heard from her.

"You're just happy you don't have to share a room with Mother and Bethany anymore."

"And listen to you snore."

"I do not snore!"

"Oh, I think you do." She winked at him across the table, taking a swig from the bottle.

"And you would know, would you?" He leaned across the table toward her, meeting her eyes, seeing the sudden flush in her cheeks that had nothing to do with her state of drunkenness.

"The walls are thin," she said, stumbling over the words.

"Too thin."

"They get in your way, Hawke?"

Their eyes held across the table, hers a very bright green.

"Care to find out?" he asked.

She bit her lip. "We said we weren't going to do that again."

"Why not?" He found her knee under the table, stroking the firm muscles of her leg. Aveline's lips parted just slightly, and she moved her leg into his touch.

"I … It wouldn't be right."

"Wouldn't it? Because it feels pretty right right now." He moved his hand a little further up her leg.

"Hawke."

Dane shifted his chair a little closer to hers. "Is that 'Hawke, stop' or 'Hawke, more'?" His fingers had moved far enough up that they were mere inches from the heat of her, and Aveline suddenly shoved her chair back, the legs squealing on the wood floor.

"Come on," she said, "before I change my mind."

As they passed his table on the way to the door, a blond dwarf sitting at a table near the fire looked up with a speculative smile on his face, watching them depart.

Outside, Dane and Aveline made it to an alley somewhere between the bar and Gamlen's before they slammed against a wall, kissing feverishly, hands scrabbling at clothes, moving things aside just enough. Dane turned her so that she was facing the wall, taking her that way, forcing moan after moan from her that she tried to muffle with her hand, biting down on her own fingers.

When the fury had passed, he leaned his head against the wall next to hers. "No big deal," he said, trying to catch his breath. "Just something we do sometimes."

She turned to look at him, the alcoholic haze gone from her eyes. "Sometimes?" she echoed.

"I don't see why not."

"Maybe."

Dane figured that was the best he was going to get, at least for now.

* * *

They sat by a flickering campfire not far from Sundermount—but far enough from the Dalish camp. If Merrill had been an outcast before, the killing of Pol, her former clanmate, by the varterral had solidified the clan's rejection of her. The loudest of the hunters had said he would put an arrow between her eyes if he saw her near the Dalish encampment again, and Dane believed he would do it.

Merrill was downcast, her arms folded around her legs and her face pressed to her knees. They could all hear her sniffing, trying not to cry. Varric was keeping a running commentary, trying to make her laugh, but the dwarf's heart hurt on the elf's behalf, it was clear to see.

Dane was only making things worse, he knew that. He had refused to give Merrill the artifact from her clan to use for blood magic, and that made the whole trip worse than useless. He felt for her, he truly did, but he had been raised to believe blood magic was the worst thing a mage could stoop to. His father had always said that blood magic served that which was most base in a person, and no mage could afford to descend to their baser self.

He got up, leaving the fire behind him, roaming to the edge of the hillock they were camping on and looking out over the fields and forests.

After a little while, he heard Aveline's always practical voice behind him. "It'll never be Ferelden."

"If I close my eyes and wish really hard …" He turned to smile at her. "What brings you out here?"

"I thought Varric would get farther if I wasn't there."

"Varric … Oh." Dane nodded. "I wondered. Do you think she feels the same?"

"I think right now anyone who doesn't reject her is a welcome change of pace." Aveline glanced back over her shoulder. "Not that that's any basis for a relationship."

Dane shrugged. "I wouldn't know. This … whatever it is we are is the closest I've ever gotten."

"That pirate whore of yours would like you to get a lot closer."

"I know, but what she wants wouldn't be a relationship." He glanced at her. "Would you mind?"

"It's your life."

"I know, but …"

Aveline sighed heavily. "Hawke, if I had more to give—but I don't. Not now. Maybe … maybe not ever."

He put an arm around her, pulling her against him. "I'm not asking for more. Really. I have my hands full with Mother. Trying to regain her social status, plotting to sneak Bethany out of the Gallows … she's a busy woman."

"You seem to find plenty to do." Aveline stood stiffly in his arms, but she was warm against him, and she didn't pull away.

"I'm free as a bird right now," Dane said, nuzzling the side of her neck. "Can't go back to the campfire, after all, and what else are we going to do?"

"Romantic," Aveline said. Her hands had moved to the buckles on his armor, deftly working the straps. He had lost count of how many times they'd done this over the years; they had armor removal down to a science.

"You wanted romance? That's a change," he said, leaning back against the nearest rock as his breastplate hit the ground.

"Hawke," Aveline growled, "shut up." And then she made sure he was done talking by stopping his mouth with hers.

* * *

Dane got up from the Hanged Man's best table, advancing toward Varric. "Where is she?"

Varric gestured toward the stairs. "My suite. Go easy on her, Hawke. This isn't exactly her usual thing."

Knowing far more about Aveline's usual thing than Varric did, Dane didn't bother to reply. He took the stairs, his feet hitting each tread with a solid thunk, so she would know he was coming.

In Varric's suite, she stood waiting for him, twisting her hands in a way totally uncharacteristic of her. It was more one of Merrill's moves, Dane reflected.

"Hawke."

"Aveline, what in the Void? You force me to set that poor guy up, you don't show, and you leave him thinking I did it to get to you through him … or to get to him. I'm not sure which he thought was the least attractive option."

She looked down at those twisting hands. "I'm sorry. I just … I couldn't. What if Donnic doesn't see me that way? What if he thinks it's … inappropriate of me?"

"You'll never know if you don't try." As Aveline turned away from him, Dane crossed the room to her, putting his hands on her shoulders and kneading the tight muscles. "Talk to me, Aveline. I've never known you to quail from a challenge before. What makes this one different?"

Aveline sighed, closing her eyes and leaning back into his touch. "I'm no good at any of this," she said. "You know that. I can talk weapons and tactics and formations, politics and current events and the history of warfare, but … as soon as emotion is involved, I freeze. I'd make a fool of myself in front of Donnic, and he'd tell the rest of the barracks, and I'd be a laughingstock. Like Jeven."

"Jeven was a crook," Dane reminded her. "You're a woman. There's nothing wrong—or laughable—in being a woman."

She snorted. "Try shouting that one in the middle of an army camp."

Dane smiled in response. "Well, maybe not at the top of my lungs, but it's worth saying." He pulled her back against his chest when she would have moved away from him, his arms sliding around her waist. "You just need more confidence in your own powers of attraction."

"Right. Because that's so easy to come by." The last word was a squeak as one of Dane's hands slid between her legs and cupped her, lightly caressing her through the layers of clothes.

"I've never known you to have a problem with confidence. Not with me." He kept rubbing, the other hand finding a breast and circling until he could feel her nipple harden beneath the shirt she wore.

"Th-that's you, though. Hawke," she said sharply, drawing in a breath as he unfastened her pants and his hand dipped inside the opening, caressing her bare flesh.

"Do you feel like a woman now?" he asked her.

She nodded against his shoulder, her mouth open with pleasure.

"Do you want Donnic to make you feel this way?" The sound of another man's name at this particular moment felt all wrong to Dane, but he pushed that misgiving aside. This was about Aveline, not about him.

After a pause, Aveline said, hesitantly, "I … think so."

"Let's see if we can do better than that." Disentangling his hands, he stepped back from her. "Do you want more?"

Aveline turned, her green eyes narrowing. She nodded.

"Then come and take it," Dane said. "Use that power you have."

She attacked him then, pushing him over to Varric's bed and practically ripping his clothes off. In her passion and her power, she was magnificent, and watching her take her pleasure from him, Dane realized what he was giving up in helping her to find this power on behalf of another man; what he wanted for himself. And even in the throes of lust, he knew a despair he had never tasted before.

* * *

Dane was strapping on his armor, preparing to head for the Wounded Coast. Or he was trying to. Every buckle he fastened seemed harder to wrestle into place than the last, and he kept finding himself staring off into the distance, thinking of Aveline.

This was the right thing to do, he told himself. Aveline needed his help to get this done, needed him to help her find her voice in a way that she could be comfortable with. So why did this feel so much like the wrong thing to do?

There was a knock on his door, and Varric poked his head in. "You're not ready yet?"

"Sorry. It's just taking me a while, for some reason."

Varric took a seat near the door, a sardonic grin crossing his face. "Some reason? You mean you don't know?"

Dane frowned at him. "Don't know what?"

"Hawke, why are you doing this? You don't want Aveline going off with tall, dark, and guardsman."

Well, that was true enough. Not that Dane had anything against Donnic, or anything against Aveline being happy, but … "If he was right for her, she'd be able to talk to him. They could sit and look at the stars and talk all night," he said.

"You don't say."

"Out with it, Varric."

"At least Aveline's doing something about her feelings. You're apparently just going to deny having any."

"Any … feelings? For Aveline?"

"Yep. Those are the ones." Varric grinned at him. "Didn't think I knew about those, did you?"

Dane fiddled with his gauntlets. "So? Aveline sees me as a good friend, albeit with benefits. Nothing else."

"You ever ask her?"

"No."

"Try it sometime. Preferably before she goes and says something to Donnic you'll all regret."

"And if she laughs at me? Or hits me?" Dane could easily imagine her doing either one—far more easily than he could imagine her being receptive to any suggestion that there might be more to them than friendship and sex.

"At least she's not a mage, so you don't have to worry about ending up as a toad."

Dane eyed Varric with some curiosity. "Been propositioning any mages recently? You look awfully cheerful."

"All I'll say is, I'm not a toad. May not be a prince, but apparently that's not a requirement."

He wasn't sure he wanted to know any more. Merrill had been looking rather cheerful recently, as well, and had been babbling less about her mirror.

"Good for you."

"And if I can, you can." Varric was watching him from the chair, waiting, his silence an implied dare.

What was he waiting for? Dane asked himself. Aveline had been there after Lothering, she had been there during that first horrible year under Meeran's thumb, she had been there for everything in between. And he wanted her there for everything yet to come; he couldn't think of anyone he'd rather spend his life with.

"So … what do I say?"

Varric shook his head. "The script is your own. Go improv, if that suits you better. Just … say something."

"Yeah. All right." Dane picked up his other gauntlet. "Let's go."

"You want an audience?" Varric looked at him like he was nuts.

"I want someone to kick me in the ass if I try to chicken out."

"That I can do."

They went together up the steps to the Viscount's keep. The barracks were buzzing, as usual. The guards were so used to Hawke stopping by that they all nodded and said hello. Dane found the lack of reaction strange; it seemed to him as though his purpose must show on his face.

Aveline's office door was closed, and he didn't wait to knock; he burst in. She looked up from her papers and saw him there. "Hawke?"

Varric shoved him, not gently, inside the room. "I'll be out here in case you try to leave," he said, and he shut the door firmly, leaving Dane and Aveline alone.

"What is it? Is something wrong?" Aveline was standing now, looking concerned.

"No. Yes. Yes, something's wrong."

"What happened?"

"It … it hasn't happened yet. It's—this is about you, and this mad scheme on the Wounded Coast."

"It was your idea! Did someone tell Donnic something? So help me, Hawke, if you've screwed this up and made me a laughingstock, I'll—" She came around the desk toward him, her face like a thundercloud.

"No, it's nothing like that. It's just … Aveline, don't do it."

"I thought you said it was the best way."

"It probably is, for him, but … if you can't talk to him now, how are you going to later? Don't you think this is some kind of a sign, that you need to go through all this rigmarole, that you can't just be you around him?"

"Yes! I said so, didn't I? And you told me …" She flushed, remembering last night. "You told me to be powerful."

"I did. But I was wrong. Because … you are powerful." Dane took a step closer to her, and finished the sentence. "With me."

"What? Hawke …"

"Call me Dane, for once in your life, Aveline."

"Dane, then. What is this?" Her voice was uncharacteristically soft.

"It's me, asking you, what if … what if … the way we are together … Aveline, I don't want to let go of that. I want more. I want all of you. I … I think I—"

She put up a hand. "Don't."

"Why not?"

"Because … I can't lose you. You're the one thing in my life I can count on."

"Then count on me, Aveline."

"If I did that, if I … if I let myself, and then I lost you—" She took a deep breath, her eyes wide and vivid green. "After Wesley, I don't think I can take that risk."

"Better to throw yourself at someone you don't love than to take a chance on someone you do?"

"Who said I love you?"

"You did. Just now. And I love you, too." He closed the distance between them, putting his arms around her. "I love you, Aveline."

She was trembling against him, her lips parted. "I …" She tried to turn her face away, but he caught her chin with one gentle hand, holding her gaze.

"Say it, Aveline."

"I love you, Dane."

They stared at one another for a long moment, the world moving sluggishly around them, neither of them certain what the next step should be. Then Dane caught sight of her cluttered desk behind her, and he grinned. "We've never christened that thing, you know."

"You make a mess of my papers, Hawke, and you're going to pay." But her voice was breathless, her hands clutching him.

"Promise?"

"Oh, I promise."

And she did … much, much later.


End file.
